


Kiss

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-01
Updated: 2003-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy's reflections upon a passionate kiss with Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss

I can barely even feel his lips at first. Just a soft brush, almost soft enough that it could have been a gust of air over my lips. An unnecessary breath.

My eyelids flutter shut in response, the absence of the one sense heightening the other four. Especially the one in particular that I want. Touch.

Two more gentle brushes. Did I imagine them? Eager to feel his flesh against mine, did my senses concoct the phantom touch?

The next sweep of his lips banishes the notion from my mind. There is gentle pressure now. Firm but soft, warm yet cool. I know his skin is no warmer than the night air, but it feels like my body’s been set ablaze by this first touch. Warmth seeps into me through the union of our lips, causing butterflies to rise in my stomach, making my heart race, my palms sweat...

I love the feel of his lips. That such an angular face could contain anything so soft, so delicate, so... _wonderful_...

His lips part as I think this, but not too much yet. Just enough to trap my upper lip between them. A hint of a nibble and a suck is all I get.

I want more.

I part my own lips in response, trapping his lower lip. It’s thick and luscious. A succulent treat, really. My mouth opens further, taking that lip gently between my teeth, twisting it. The tip of my tongue flicks out, eager to taste...

He groans in response, and his own tongue escapes his lips. It wets my upper lip before flicking beneath to trace the inside as well.

My appetite for him has been whetted now. I release his lower lip, and our mouths fuse once more. This time they open simultaneously, creating a cavern between us just waiting to be explored. However, instead of plunging his tongue right in, he continues to trace the outline of my mouth, torturing me with my perceptions of his talented tongue just on the edge of my awareness.

Everything about this man is a power play. Undoubtedly, he would say the same thing about me. It’s part of what makes our kiss so exciting, so all-consuming... I’m the one who gives in first this time, though.

My tongue plunges deep into his mouth, plundering the sweetness there. He always tastes of a fragrant wine to me. His mouth is rich, powerful, heady. It leaves me slightly drunk, yet always craving more. I roll his taste about on my tongue like a fine connoisseur.

Absolutely delicious...

Upon my verdict, his own tongue reaches out to taste mine as well. I murmur softly, my eyes squeezing shut tight as he savors my flavor. I wonder what he tastes in me. Whatever it is, it can’t come close to the heavenly ambrosia that is so distinctly _him_.

The craving within becomes almost too much to bear at this thought. I need to touch him, explore him, and the mere meeting of our mouths isn’t enough to fully capture the sinful richness of this man.

My fingers reach out hesitantly at first, brushing lightly against the razor-sharp edge of his cheek. This is the only touch we share, save the meeting of our lips, and it feels like something momentous is about to happen.

He leans into my hands, and, encouraged, I cup his cheek with my warm palm. My fingers trace sensuously along his jaw-line, drawing the strong features that I know by heart.

I reach out with my left hand as well now, cupping his face as I pour my desire into our kiss.

His tongue grows more daring now, stroking against mine, tracing it from every angle. It is an artist’s paintbrush, gentle and sure, creating a work of wonder and beauty within me. Or maybe it just reveals the beauty that was already there...

The distance between us once again becomes unbearable, and my fingers trail up into his hair, pulling him harder against my lips, drawing him in deeper. His locks curl around my fingers, spun silver at my fingertips. Soft, like silk; white, like a dove, pure and innocent and...

Oh god! The things his tongue is doing are anything _but_ innocent. He finds every spot that makes me gasp and whimper, lathes them with attention... His own hands have finally entered our kiss, reaching out to gently hold my waist in place as he kisses me breathless. I know the skill of those fingers, the innovative ways in which they make love to my body... Yet they remain still, content merely to hold me for the moment.

With his touch, the burning passion within him finally rises to its highest flame. His mouth becomes possessive, arching over mine, pouring out every emotion in his poet’s heart, showing his love for me with every fiber of his being. Oh, this man has been burnt far too often, and the passion comes out more hesitantly, shyly, now, but it still burns every bit as bright...

He’s still too far! God, I need him closer, closer... _there_! My arms slide around his back, pressing his lean body into mine, holding him so tightly that not even a breath could pass between us. I feel my own soft curves mold against his hard musculature, my body yielding and giving way as his mouth slowly consumes me.

I wonder at this imagery for a moment, what it means, what it symbolizes. And then I don’t care because, oh god! His hand is in my hair now, running through the tresses sensuously, and his other hand is under my knee, pulling my leg up and around his waist, and oh god! He’s so beautiful, so wonderful, and I just have to...

Have. More.

My fragile control is fading, my emotions boiling over, my body writhing against his, desperate for contact, friction. And every wave of the rising inferno within me is escaping right into his mouth, letting him know that I’m just as desperate for him as he is for me. He moans once more into my mouth, and even though the sounds are inarticulate, I can still tell it’s my name. I whimper in response, letting him know that, yes, I am his, just as he is mine.

His mouth is fiery hot now, warmed by my desire. He still tastes of sweet ambrosia, but now his taste is mingled with my own, and...oh god! The combination is even _better_.

I feel the gusts of his unnecessary pants against my face, and I feel him fully encircle me as I’m drawn deeper into his embrace. His heady, overwhelming scent surrounds me – tobacco and leather and forbidden passion.

It fills my nose, making my gasping breaths more laborious, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts, and I realize that I’m drowning. I’m immersed in him, drowning, drowning in...

“Spike!”

The word escapes my lips like a fervent supplication as I finally break our kiss, my lungs greedily gulping in oxygen during the only brief reprieve I’ll give them. Already, I thirst for him as if I’ve been walking through a desert for ages.

“I love you,” he whispers raggedly into my hair. “God, I love you so much...”

And, in that moment, I know it’s true. And that I love him, too.


End file.
